One positive change I’ve made in my life is learning that peace usually has to be chosen and protected.
That sounds simple, but it took a long time to understand. Younger me probably thought every problem required immediate attention, every frustration deserved a response, and every unreasonable person simply needed the benefit of hearing my clearly superior explanation of why they were wrong. Age has not removed that instinct entirely, but it has at least taught me that exercising restraint usually creates fewer secondary problems.
Part of that change has been learning that peace often comes through forgiveness. Holding onto anger can feel justified, especially when you believe you have every right to it, but most of the time it just keeps old wounds alive and gives them fresh energy. It’s a little like paying storage fees on something you don’t even want anymore. Forgiveness doesn’t always mean forgetting or pretending something didn’t matter. Sometimes it simply means deciding that a hurt no longer gets to keep renting space in your head.
And honestly, I’ve come to see The Epistle to the Philippians 4:4–9 almost like a recipe for peace—a six-point plan that still holds up remarkably well: rejoice, be reasonable, don’t be anxious, pray, commit your thoughts to what is good and worthy, and follow the example of people who actually live that way. It is remarkably practical advice, especially considering how much modern life encourages the exact opposite.
Do those things consistently, and peace has room to enter. Ignore them, and you’re left wondering why your blood pressure rises every time you open your phone.
That probably explains why I value quiet more now than I used to. Sometimes peace looks like prayer. Sometimes it looks like silence after a long day. Sometimes it looks like refusing to answer something immediately because not every comment deserves a rebuttal, no matter how satisfying one might be.
At some point you realize that not every storm deserves your participation. Some things need attention. Some things need prayer. And some things need the remarkable gift of being ignored.
Copyright © 2026 Doug DeBolt.
Preach that last sentence!